Wyndmere North Dakota Ghost Story

Before I was born, my dad was inquiring about a farm house outside of Wyndmere, ND. The gentleman he asked, had a story to tell about the house.

There was an older couple living on the land-it was about 5 acres, with a tree line. The house was fairly old-at least 80 in 1987. The couple were foster parents to a teenage boy, 16 years old, who attended the public school in Wyndmere.

The day began the same as any other. The boy woke up, got ready for school, ate his breakfast downstairs with his foster mother, and went upstairs to retrieve something from his room before the bus showed up. He never came back down. Without an obvious reason or cause, the boy hung himself in his bedroom closet.

When I was growing up in that room about 10 years later, I had that bedroom. I can describe that house with a lot of detail, mostly the upstairs where my bedroom and the bathroom was. I can tell you that the stairs were steep and wooden, with a banister all around it. The only parts of the downstairs I remember are the living room, which to the right had another small room connected to it, with a large patio door. To the left, I remember the dining room table.

I clearly remember the back entry way. I can remember looking down the stairs, watching my mom run down, up, and outside to my dad who was out of view, hollering at my mom to keep me away, keep me inside, after he had a chainsaw accident and nearly sawed his right leg into two halves, vertically. I know this won’t astonish anyone reading this, but it made my parent’s jaws drop when I told them those very same descriptions.

We moved from that farmhouse when I was three, into the town of Wahpeton, and from the first house we lived in, we moved only one other time. It was a pleasant summer day, and we were sitting with my neighbors, whom I considered as grandparents, discussing creepy, scary stories. My parents told the story about the farmhouse’s history, and after I described the house to the full extent of what I could remember, I told them this.

One night, I can remember being in my bedroom, laying in my bed. My bed was a bunk bed, and was right next to a window. Past the foot of my bed, I can see the closet. The door was usually closed, but sometimes it would open. Even at the young age of two, I knew the wind could cause it to open. I clearly remember laying in bed, and something sat next to me, causing a depression into the bedsheets, and pulled my blanket up to my chin. I can remember, to this day, the feeling of weight settling next to me, and seeing the parts of the blanket stretch as though they were being tugged by invisible hands. It wasn’t meant to scare me. Whoever it was, wanted to keep me warm.

My mom also noted that I never had toys out on the floor of my bedroom. I never put them away before I went to bed, but when I woke up, they were back in the closet where they belonged.

I know it’s a long winded story-its SO much better when told in person. It honestly is true. Unfortunately, the house had been destroyed about 10 years ago, and a different house was built in its place.